together we stand
by saunatonttu
Summary: Healing from the poison takes its time, and for Laxus it feels an eternity. Hints of Miraxus. Rated T.


A/N: First time writing Laxus and of course it happens at god knows what time.

* * *

_**together**_

**_we stand_**

**_._**

**_._**

The first sensation he becomes acutely aware of is the taste of a desert in his mouth and the disgusting dampness running down his skin.

The sensation of heat is registered by association to the damp feeling.

Vague sounds around him capture his attention next, though each voice (for he recognizes the sounds to be voices) blurs with another one and words evade his mind's understanding.

One name comes to his mind, irrationally and without a reason: _Natsu._

He falls back into unconsciousness without anyone noticing that has ever been awake.

.

.

Next time, he wakes and knows that he is Laxus Dreyar – much more than last time when he was lost in the sensations.

Now he recognizes the pain that lingers in his body like a predator ready to pounce – or ready to withdraw, Laxus realizes as he twitches his fingers with no particular consequences.

Memories are still fuzzy, but he now has a concept of self again – and that's what he contents himself with before allowing himself be dragged into the darkness once more.

This time, he didn't hear any voices.

.

.

He opens his eyes, only to wince immediately at the brightness that sweeps the room around him. His throat still feels like sandpaper.

When the light's assault turns more bearable, Laxus blinks and stares at the ceiling that he knows for sure isn't Fairy Tail's. Yet the familiarity strikes him – but he doesn't dwell on it much longer.

His limbs ache, a throbbing pain pulsing through his body, but he distantly remembers a more horrible pain in the past. Recent past, if his muddled memories are to be trusted.

His tongue pushes his parched lips open, slowly trailing over the lower lip as he makes another effort to swallow down some saliva.

His limbs feel like lead weighing him down; like a layer of concrete has been painted on him; and so Laxus doesn't bother to get up just yet.

He listens to his own breathing – each raspy intake, followed by the feeling that he can't breathe deep enough.

He listens to the branches scratching at the window of the room, and he tentatively makes his fingers twitch again. And again – he repeats the action until he can curl his hands into fists.

He tries turning his head, only to find that – ow, shit – that's a bad idea because the world suddenly swims from him a little bit: vision blurs, pain throbs within his body, and light fuzziness spreads over to his head.

The sole door in the room opens then, or so Laxus determines from the sound of creaking of a door in need of some oiling.

"You're awake," comes the voice of an experienced woman. _No shit,_ he wants to say, but all that leaves his lips is a low croaking sound, very unlike the mighty lightning dragon slayer.

"Don't try to get up," she adds as she comes to his range of vision, her wrinkled face as impassive as always and yet Laxus detects a hint of the relief any doctor would feel when their patient woke up.

Which brings up the question...

_How long,_ he mouths at her, wincing as she gingerly pulls him up into a sitting position – at which his body complains, but there's a pleasant dullness in the ache that Laxus now realizes must be painkiller-induced.

Of course.

She shakes her head. No questions.

"I'll bring you some water. Stay still."

Her tone makes him nod his head obediently like a little boy – like he used to nod at his mother when she had been around.

The painkillers take the edge off of that old pain, too.

Laxus exhales.

.

.

The water streaming down into his throat is like an angel's song in the midst of agonizing death: it relieves Laxus of one problem for the time being, and talking is a bit more easier when he doesn't sound like he has swallowed a cactus recently.

"How long?" _Have I been out of it? How many days? Months? _

Too many thoughts strain his mind, and he drops them. Living in the moment had always been his forte – not obscure anxiety over just as obscure things.

"It has been two months now since you were poisoned." Her eyes look right at him. Inquisitive. Impassive. I-something-else.

Laxus's face furrows into its typical lines and wrinkles; the ones around his lips most pronounced. "I..." he trails off, eyes sliding down to his lap where his arms rest. Several tubes hang off there, and Laxus wonders how he hasn't noticed them before.

His mind moves with the word 'poisoned' – brain cells shift, arrange and connect memories that have been muddled before, creating a hazy image of what happened.

"Oh," he says, lips in a small o-shape. "How... how is everyone?"

_Ever. Freed. Bickslow._

"They're up and about. Woke up ages ago after I administered the antidote for the poison." She smiles almost gently then, but Laxus dismisses it as illusion. "Their rehabilitation is going well – they're mostly finished, even. That Freed boy, though-"

Laxus barely suppresses a smile.

"He's been asking about you every day, and he comes here every day. It's _annoying_, let me tell you that." She waves her hand in exasperation, and this time Laxus laughs – or coughs – only to wince afterwards.

A fond thought emerges, and relief comes with it – as well as a coughing fit.

"Drink some more," Porlyusica murmurs, eyes closing as she pushes another glass to Laxus's hands. "I'll let Makarov see you before I do a check-up. The fool's been even more worried about you than the rest."

Laxus shakes his head. "Do the check-up first," he coughs as he puts the glass down, "Later it'd be difficult with Freed and every other idiot barging in here."

.

.

The check-up takes a long time, and it is tiring.

Laxus is more annoyed by his physical condition than he'd like to admit as Porlyusica settles him against the mattress again, firm on not letting Laxus overexert himself just yet when she can't be sure if all of the poison has been cleared out from his system yet.

"It was a very dangerous poison you went and inhaled," she mutters disdainfully to his ear. "You are becoming more and more like your grandfather."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Laxus says back tiredly. Sleep seems all too welcoming now, even though he hasn't been up for an hour yet. "Gramps probably would be insulted, though." He makes an attempt at pulling his lips into a smirk, but fails and his lips fall back into a line.

Porlyusica does not smile.

"As for your condition..." she says slowly and with solemnity that grabs Laxus's attention. "I can't say how badly your organs suffered from the poison just yet – that requires more thorough... investigation. But let me tell you this." Solemnity grips Laxus as much as it has gripped her, and he nods for her to continue.

"It was a very potent neurotoxin – it's a miracle you are alive... but. You inhaled the most, and you are facing the most severe consequences of the poison. The antidote, though it drove the toxins out from your body, can't repair the damage done in your head or body." She purses her lips. "And it is unclear whether you will ever be able to use magic ever again."

.

.

Laxus does not have enough time to worry about her words – for which he is grateful, since worrying is not his style, and his head is buzzing as his other senses do their other things.

He tries not to worry as Porlyusica goes to get Makarov.

He takes a deep, raspy breath – his lungs sound like they're on the verge of death – and tries to ignore the emerging memory of Fantasia from his childhood. That one memory – of Gramps, of Fairy Tail – is enough for the seed of despair to settle despite his wholehearted 'we'll see how it goes' thought.

His magic – his lightning – is what makes him _him._ What is the lightning dragon slayer Laxus without it?

Laxus does not indulge that thought. Instead he waits in silence, back propped up by the pillows his unwilling doctor has arranged for him.

The thick silence is broken by his uneven, shallow breaths, and the beating of his heart.

.

.

He raises his head when the door opens – a little too quickly and much too forcefully – and he's not surprised to see the familiar gray hairs of his gramps' head as the elder steps briskly into the room.

"Laxus!"

Somehow, the outright relief on his grandfather's face almost makes Laxus want to bawl like a kid again, though he won't – not unless gramps cries first. Calling it preservation of his pride wouldn't be too far off.

"Gramps," Laxus mutters, pulling himself fully up despite the complaints his body gives. With sheer will, he brushes the need to lie down aside for now. "Long time no see."

Gramps' face contorts slightly at that, and Laxus manages a hoarse chuckle. "What, nothing to say?" The weakness slips through into his voice, but he figures it can't be helped.

"I'm so..." Laxus amuses himself with watching gramps trying to find the words while suppressing tears. "I'm so relieved you're still with us, Laxus... with your family."

Those words strike a chord within Laxus. "Of course," he says, a pained smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not allowed to die before you, gramps."

Fairy Tail's master's face contorts accordingly to that sentence, a faked anger twisting his expression as he looks at Laxus. "Of course you're not allowed, Laxus!"

Laxus laughs again, though it hurts. While his throat is alright now, his lungs...

Gramps looks at him, now more thoughtfully and seriously, with those eyes that always see through Laxus, as though he were still that young boy waiting for Fantasia.

(Magic was so beautiful back then when he had very little of it. So special.)

"What you did, back there... Laxus." Makarov Dreyar's eyes stay keen on Laxus and his worn-out figure. "I'm proud of how far you have come."

Laxus swallows hard. "Gramps..."

"But don't you ever make me worry about you like that ever again! I say this as your grandfather, not as the guild master." Makarov inches closer to Laxus's side, offering a hand which Laxus takes while staring at the differences of the two hands.

"I... Freed and everyone... they're doing okay?"

Makarov snorts, squeezing Lazus's hand gently. It's a grandfather's touch, and Laxus swallows back both his tears and fears. "They have been up and about for a while now. Freed's dying of worry for you, though."

"When isn't he," Laxus snorts wearily, slumping back against the pillows as his strength wanes. Hand-in-hand with gramps, he doesn't mind weakness much. "I'm glad he's doing well," he says more to himself than to his grandfather.

.

.

"Natsu and others didn't jump at the chance to come with you to see me?"

"Never told them you're awake. I'll let Freed and the rest of your tribe know after I get back."

"Ah, gramps... mind telling them to come tomorrow? I'm sleepy."

"You look like crap, Laxus. Of course I wouldn't let them come overexert you, especially Natsu."

"Hahaha, you don't look much better, old man."

"I have been worried for your sake, you ungrateful brat."

"Yeah... yeah, I know." A brief silence. "I'm sorry, gramps."

"You're here now, Laxus. That's all I care about."

.

.

"Oi, Laxus!"

The day after his awakening, he has a heap of green and two other kinds of heaps of meat hanging off of him without a care in the world and fuck if it doesn't hurt.

Fuck if he'd let this moment go just yet.

"Freed," he groans as Freed's hair brushes at his face while Freed sobs into his shoulder. "Freed. Stop wailing. Stop."

His voice gets all muffled when Freed shifts, shoving his hair to Laxus's face and nearly choking the latter in progress.

"Oh, Laxus, I knew you would wake up one of these days-"

Evergreen's arms have grabbed one of Lanxus's arms captive in return, and her tears currently wet the shoulder Freed's not occupying.

Bickslow is... what the fuck is Bickslow even doing. Somewhere behind the other two, crying just as much and loudly.

"What a bunch of crybabies," Laxus whispers most fondly, pretending that he's not crying out of relief that these guys made it out alive.

There had been a time when he wouldn't have risked himself for the sake of others – and he's ashamed. So very ashamed.

Yet, he has a family to come back to, through thick and thin, and Laxus sees it now: the clear picture of everyone in the guild, laughing and just being nuisances and fighting and sticking up for each other.

If he can't be there to defend this family...

Laxus's thoughts go astray after that.

.

.

"rehabilitation will be painful." Her reminder is stern, and his nod is just as.

"I know. I'm prepared."

He hasn't dared to try his magic yet, but he feels restless – an itching goes through his body, his mind, and it makes him mad that he's evading it. Laxus does not run away from things – except perhaps the most painful ones.

(He thinks about how hard it sometimes was to look at his grandpa, the guild master, when his sins weigh heavily on his shoulders after all this time.)

"As said, your head is messed up because of the neurotoxin, but you should be able to get better, though there's not much to do if your magic power is gone or organs otherwise messed up."

Laxus takes a deeper breath and feels the familiar choke that accompanies too-long, too-deep inhales.

"It's ok. I can do this." There's no reason to be scared and no reason to run away from facing whatever reality may be – he just has to learn to cope.

Just... he closes his eyes when he's left alone again. Just let magic come to him, out of him, from within, whatever. Just... let there be magic left.

(He can feel it, though. He can feel it resting inside him – that strength that is called lightning.)

.

.

He's up and going in about two more months, fully capable again mobility-wise.

Magic-wise, he is struggling.

And he is scared – scared of letting anyone know.

Stupidly enough, a fear of this family disappearing from him gnaws at him like the poison a few months previously had.

It's easy to pretend that he's still recovering, that the poison had taken greater toll on him (he had nearly died, and some of his organs would never be the same, so it was not much of a lie) than anyone would have expected.

The fear of being incapable – of being helpless – eats at him; it's a parasite, a worm that clings to its host for all its worth.

Nothing is more paralyzing than fear.

.

.

The lightning crackles in his throat, all feisty and temperament as this natural phenomenon tends to be.

Laxus loves its taste – the electric sensation on his tongue, the inexplicable aftertaste – and the sound and the fierce _power._

Now it's difficult to swallow, the lightning seems to fight back. It crackles, hisses, whispers _you're not worth this power anymore, you're weak, _and that voice is remarkably similar to Laxus's father's.

Too bad that childhood traumas don't matter to him anymore.

He forces the lightning down his throat and licks his lips afterwards, the lightning crackling and settling in his stomach to the point of nausea.

He sits through the storm before returning to the guild.

.

.

He had asked Porlyuisca to not mention about the issue to any one, so it is not surprising for him to see Natsu bursting into the guild and challenge him.

Laxus merely smiles in his own condescending manner, brushes Natsu off, and continues sipping the drink as Mira eyes him.

(She has been staring at him a lot.)

He knows he's running on borrowed time – the progress hasn't been as great as he had wished initially – but what's he to do?

.

.

It's not a problem if he refuses to admit it.

He stares at the pulse of lightning growing and throbbing at the palm of his hand; the yellow light looks upon him challengingly – _do you dare to tame me again, Laxus_?

.

.

He dares.

.

.

But before that, there is a woman with her own complications and skeletons, and her power runs deep.

She has him on her fingertips, and she smiles with that knowledge.

"Mira," he murmurs one day. "I have a problem."

.

.

He hasn't chosen her for nothing.

She is not quite like his lighting – light-hearted and fickle as she may be, the only destruction she brings is always for someone, never for its own sake.

And yet, she has strength, she has power to protect – and which _he_ wants to regain.

.

.

"Laxus," she murmurs, her glass-wrist pressed against his. "Master wouldn't care."

He says nothing.

She sighs, but her smile widens and softens. "You're one of us, no matter whether you can restore your magic to what it was."

Her fingers curl around his, and Laxus finds his gaze drawn to her. She has that kind of power, after all. His lips curl down, the lines at the corners of his lips showing.

Her smile is like a fucking angel choir from heaven, and yet... there's something more beneath it, something that makes him quiver inside out.

"It's alright to be afraid sometimes," she whispers before kissing his cheek.

.

.

It's not her words that make him fight harder – it's not even Mira herself that encourages him – it's his own drive for strength that gets him going.

The road to tomorrow is long and rocky, but he will reach the tomorrow where he can stand by his family properly again.

(Mira's voice chides him – "you're one of us no matter what happens" – but he willfully ignores.)

(And then she laughs.)


End file.
